


honey, you’re familiar

by Murf1307



Series: blue skies forever [1]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: (kind of), Alex has issues, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/M, First Meetings, Historically Accurate Internalized Queerphobia, Holding Hands, Love at First Sight, Meet-Cute, POV Character of Color, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 07:44:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14828243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Murf1307/pseuds/Murf1307
Summary: Armando meets Alex Summers when Xavier and Lehnsherr ask him to detour to Riker’s Island.  What happens next might someday be history.





	honey, you’re familiar

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this is the first technically “canonical” installment of _blue skies forever_! I’m really excited to properly get going on this series. 
> 
> Basically, it’s like canon, except Alex is a trans girl who is presenting female when she meets the rest of the young mutants, and I haven’t decided yet whether Armando dies even temporarily.

They meet when Erik and Charles bring Alex out of Rikers.  Armando is leaning one hip against the hood of his cab, his internal clock counting up the minutes and the miles.  He's interrupted in his thoughts by the three of them walking toward him.

Alex moves slowly, short hair glowing gold in the afternoon sun.  Blue eyes dart suspiciously around, finally landing on Armando as the three of them approach.

“Armando,” Charles says, with a smile.  “This is Alex. She's one of us.”

She looks pretty butch, for a girl, and Rikers is a men's prison, but Armando figures it's none of his goddamn business.

She's glaring at Charles with this betrayed expression, and Armando feels bad for her.  He extends a hand. “I'm Armando, but my friends call me Darwin. Nice to meet you.”

Alex blinks at him, looking down at his hand for a moment before taking it.  “Hi.”

Her voice is low, but it could be velvety, he thinks, if she wasn't freaking out.  He smiles at her, shaking her hand. “It's gonna be a long drive down to Virginia,” he says, making his best effort at small talk.

“She needs clothes,” Erik says, his voice a little clipped.  

Armando is a little wary of Erik, to be honest.  He can see the danger perched in that man's bones, and his instincts don't like being anywhere near him.  But he's right.

“Yes, of course,” Charles agrees.  “Alex, do you have any particular preferences?”

“Shit, man, I don't know,” she says, almost snaps.  “Gimme a minute, okay?”

Charles is about to reply, but Armando and Erik both give him a  _ Look _ and he shuts his mouth, embarrassed for a moment.

Alex takes a deep breath.  “I mean. I can't exactly walk into Macy's, now can I?”

“Maybe you can…”

 

* * *

 

They can, and they do — Charles's gifts keep people's notice away from the four of them as Alex wanders the ladies department, her hands sliding through the racks.

Armando hangs back, a little, getting the sense that she'd rather not be disturbed.  But now that she's calmed down a little, he can't help but notice things about her. The way she holds herself, the curve of her neck as she bends to read a price tag.

Quite simply, he thinks she's beautiful.

The thought puts ice in his stomach.  The last thing he needs is a  _ crush _ .  

But he just keeps watching.  

At one point, she picks her head up and catches him at it.  She flushes and frowns, and turns away.

Shit.  She probably thinks — 

He approaches her, biting his lip.  “Hey, Alex?”

Her hands tighten on the dress she's holding.  “I know I'm a freak. No need to rub it in.”

He holds up his hands a little.  “It's not — it's not like that. Hand to God.”

Erik finds them then, having returned from a trip to, of all things, the wig department.  It takes Armando a minute to realize why, and steps back to give her space.

The wig is roughly the same color as her natural hair, and when she lifts it out of the box, her hands shake a little.  

“Thank you,” she says to Erik, softly.

Erik helps her put it on, and the whole situation seems a little strange.  But if Alex trusts Erik, Armando isn’t going to push it. 

She bites her lip, asking Armando, “How do I look?”

It’s almost a challenge.  He smiles at her. “It looks good on you,” he says, because it does.  It falls to about her shoulders, in classic Hollywood waves. Really, it's a bombshell’s wig.

And she  _ is _ a bombshell, he’s starting to think.

Charles whistles a little, from nearby.  Armando thinks it’s meant as a compliment, but Alex stiffens, the smile on her face practically cracking in half.  

“Charles,” Erik says, and there’s clear warning in his tone.

“My apologies, Alex.  It looks lovely on you, that’s all I meant.”  Charles winces.

Alex relaxes a little.  “Thank you.”

“Now, is there anything you would like to try on?” Charles smiles at Alex.  “I can make sure you won’t be interrupted in the ladies dressing room.”

She nods.  “Okay.”

She gathers up some hangers — a couple of dresses, some jeans, a blouse or two — and the four of them head over to the dressing room.  Charles strikes up a conversation with the attendant, and Alex, after a moment’s hesitation, slips inside unnoticed.

Armando rolls his shoulders.  “Seems like you’re looking after her,” he says, quietly, to Erik.  He’s curious, honestly.

“She has a very specific situation.  The last thing any of us needs is for her to face additional problems as a result of that situation.” Erik is watching the doorway Alex passed through.  “It will be hard enough, given what we all are.”

Armando nods.  “Yeah. Still, nice of you to do that, with the wig.”

“I suppose.”

They stay quiet, after that, until Alex comes out in her first outfit.  It’s a blue, pleated sundress with short sleeves, and it’s maybe a little dated, but it looks nice enough on her.

“It looks lovely, Alex,” Charles says, as the attendant wanders off.

She frowns, though, spinning slowly in place.  “I don’t know. It feels...flouncy.”

Armando can’t help it; he chuckles a little.  

She glares at him, but there’s less heat this time.  She might be starting to believe that he doesn’t see her as a freak, maybe.  He hopes so.

Alex retreats back into the dressing room.

The next outfit is a pair of jeans and a slouchy white blouse.  Her hair is over one shoulder, and the cut of the jeans make her legs look longer, somehow.

He stares, a little, because she looks  _ damn _ good like this, and more comfortable, too.

She blushes.  “Well?” She asks, turning a little.

“It’s a bit avant-garde,” Charles says, seemingly not liking it — does the man have functioning eyes?  Armando’s starting to wonder.

“Pants are practical,” Erik points out.

Armando figures he ought to step in.  “You look great,” he says, “And you look a lot more comfortable in those jeans than you did in that skirt.”

She blushes even more.  “Thanks, um, Darwin.”

But she’s smiling when she disappears back into the dressing room, so he calls it a success.

“She’ll stand out, dressed like that,” Charles points out.

“She’s neither a twelve year old nor a suburban housewife, the blue dress somehow made her look like a football player dressed as both,” Erik shot back.

“Erik!”

Erik glares.  “You know it’s true.  Her shoulders are too broad for a dress like that.”

They both shut up when Alex comes back out in a blue blouse and a tight, white, knee-length pencil skirt.  Cinched at the waist with a white belt, the outfit looks both businesslike and very pretty, like she’s half Jackie O. and half Brigitte Bardot.

“That’s perfect,” Charles says immediately.

“It’s pretty,” Armando agrees.  “She’s gonna need a couple different outfits, right?”

Erik makes a noise of assent.  “I still think pants are more practical.”

At that moment, Alex does something none of them have seen her do: she laughs.  It starts as a giggle bubbling up, and then she’s clutching her stomach laughing at them all.

“You’re — you guys have  _ so many opinions _ ,” she manages, after she gets ahold of herself.  “And none of you agree.”

Charles looks chagrined, and Erik is slightly flushed.  Armando grins.

“I think I know what I like now,” she tells them.  “Um, Charles, can I wear one of the outfits out of the store?”

“Of course, Alex,” Charles says.  “We’re going to need to get you shoes, as well.”

Alex nods, and as she disappears back into the dressing room, Armando starts to get the feeling that they’re going to be here at Macy’s for a  _ while. _

 

* * *

 

Once they have the beginnings of a wardrobe for Alex, packed away in three small suitcases, and Armando grabs an overnight bag full of his own things from his apartment, they all go out to dinner.

Alex wears the blue blouse and white skirt with a pair of white, low-heeled shoes.  She got makeup somewhere, Armando’s not sure wear, and she looks nice, if nervous. They all go to this diner that Armando’s dropped people off at but never eaten at, and he sits down next to Alex in the booth.

“So,” Charles says, “I’m sure you’re both wondering exactly what we’ll be needing your help with.”

“It’s crossed my mind, yeah,” Armando says, a little wryly.

Erik nods.  “It begins with a man called Shaw.”

The story he tells is horrifying, leading from the Nazi death camps of the Second World War up through the looming spectre of nuclear Armageddon.

“But what are  _ we _ supposed to do about it?” Alex asks, her voice tight, almost sharp.

Charles takes a deep breath.  “There’s a strong likelihood that there will be violence, Alex.  And only people like us will stand a chance at stopping it.”

“I don’t want to kill people,” she says, flatly.

Armando intervenes: “Yeah, me neither.  What’s the plan?”

“Ideally, you wouldn’t see combat.” Charles reaches across the table and lays a hand on one of Alex’s.  “When all is said and done, I want to start a program for young people like us.”

“I’m here to take down Shaw,” Erik says.  “Nothing more, nothing less.”

Alex nods.  She looks at Erik, appraising.  “I get that.”

“I’m interested in this program thing,” Armando says.  “Like, we talking after school, or…?”

Charles smiles at him, seemingly grateful for the attention.  “I’m not sure yet. It depends on what happens, unfortunately, with this business with Shaw, and what kind of support we can get from the U.S. government.”

“I don’t like how that sounds,” Alex says.  “Government’s never done shit for kids.”

“Well, we’ll see,” Charles says, conciliatory.

Armando guesses that they will.

 

* * *

 

They drive for a few hours after dinner, then stop at a roadside motel in New Jersey -- not Armando’s first choice, but he’ll adapt.  He always does.

Erik and Charles have been giving each other these weird little heated glances pretty much since the dessert course, so when Charles walks back from the office with two sets of room keys, Armando twitches a little smirk.

He gently nudges Alex, who jumps a little, wobbling in her heels.  “I’m guessing we better room together,” he says. “Looks like those two need a little  _ alone time _ , if you catch my drift.”

She lets out a surprised laugh, and Erik gives them both a scandalized look.

But Charles just flushes and hands Armando one set of keys, a beseeching expression on his face as he and Erik retreat to their motel room.

Armando leads Alex to theirs, and, at the door, says, “I’m glad we’re not right next to them, that’s for sure.”

Alex laughs again, hiding her mouth behind her hand.  When they get inside, she says, “You know, it’s weird.  You just -- you’re  _ okay _ with all this weird, sexual-deviant bullshit.”

He shrugs.  “I mean, we’re mutants.  No sense in getting precious about who sleeps with who, you know?”

She smiles.  “Yeah, I guess.”  

“Plus, I figured it might make you laugh.”  He makes an expansive gesture. “And hey, two beds.”

“That’s good,” she says, flushing.  “How much do you wanna bet there’s only one bed in the other room?” Her expression’s turned mischievous, and  _ oh _ , shit, Armando’s  _ really _ into that look on her.

He grins.  “I wouldn’t bet a nickel against it, that’s for sure.”

She pulls one of her suitcases in with her, and sets it on the bed closer to the bathroom.  He’s fine with taking the bed nearer to the door, honestly; it’s probably safer, and if either of them needs the safety he can provide, it’s this girl.  “Shit,” she mutters. “I forgot to get pajamas or a nightgown or something.”

“We can stop by someplace tomorrow,” he says.  “I mean, we’re all on Charles’s dime here.”

“Yeah.”  She nods, rolling her shoulders, and she sits down on the bed.  “It’s -- man, I don’t mean to lean on you or anything. But this is all so... _ weird. _ ”

He nods, duffel next to his own bed, and sits down, too.  “Yeah.”

“Did they just...get in your cab and tell you they were...mutants, too?”

“Something like that,” he admits.  “They asked me to drive them to Virginia, and then Erik engaged the fare lever from the backseat.  It was weird shit.”

She laughs a little.  He gets the feeling people don’t really just shoot the shit with her, and he’s glad to.  She’s a nice girl. Well, clearly not a _nice_ _girl_ , but he likes her, and likes spending time talking to her.  So she’s nice, for him anyway.

“Yeah.  They just kinda...showed up.  Charles did his head thing, and then they were getting me released.  Wasn’t expecting that.” She shrugs.

Armando smiles at her.  “Second chances, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess.”  She flushes a little.  “What about you? I heard you mention to Charles that you wanted in on that program idea he has.”

He nods.  “Yeah. I went to boarding schools growing up, so I know a thing or two.”

“And you drive a  _ cab? _ ”

That stings, and he flushes invisibly.  “Money's kind of tight, and driving makes enough.”

“Sorry,” she says, “It's just, boarding schools…”

“Sound like a rich people thing?” he asks, chuckling and raising his eyebrows. “Some of them have scholarships, y'know.”

She blushes.  “Good to know.” She shrugs a little.  “So, like, are you some kind of genius?”

“Sometimes.” When he needs to be.

“Cool.”

Conversation peters out a little after that, but Armando doesn't mind.  He probably shouldn't, but he likes just spending  _ time _ with Alex.  Even when she's quiet.  Even though she's so guarded.

He figures she has reason to be.

 

* * *

 

She sleeps in her clothes, but so does he, and he wakes up before she does, so he goes into the bathroom to change.  One of the light bulbs is dead, and the other is flickering.

He takes stock of himself in a grimy mirror after splashing water on his face.  

Jesus.  What is he getting himself into?

This could easily end in violence.  From how Erik's described Shaw, it seems almost impossible that it won't.

He'll be fine, he always is.  If he couldn't kill himself, he doubts this man could manage it.  

The thing is, though, they  _ are  _ going to be working with the U.S. government.  He can't say he trusts them, and he sure as hell doesn't trust ‘em when it comes to a girl like Alex. 

She just got out of  _ prison _ .  And it doesn't look like anybody has her back, not really.  

She's the sort of person who might just...disappear.

He won't let something like that happen to her.  He already likes her too much, and if he can protect anybody with these gifts of his, he thinks he should.

Sure, people can do things to him.  He can  _ suffer _ .  But if he can survive it, he can outlast any suffering he's faced with.  It's a bridge he'll cross when he comes to it, and he thinks that it's the only way  _ to  _ handle his powers, really.

“Darwin?” 

He jumps a little.  It's just Alex, her wig a little askew, looking sleepy — and pretty as hell, still.

“Yeah?” he asks, his voice maybe a little warmer than intended.

“You okay?  You were staring at yourself pretty hard.” She's leaning against the doorframe, like she wants nothing more than to crawl back into bed.

He nods.  “Yeah. Just thinking.”

She nods, and she seems to just  _ know  _ what he means.  He doesn't know how, if it's a mutant thing, since he doesn't know what her gifts are.  But he won't ask her — he figures she should be allowed what privacy she can get, given how they met.

“Do you need the bathroom?” he asks her.  “I can go grab us breakfast while you get dressed, if you want.”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” she says, blushing a little.  

As he passes her, he feels the urge to pull her close, to ask her if she's feeling this, too.  But instead, he just smiles at her and lets her be

He leaves the motel room and exhales.  

Jeez, he's really in it now.

 

* * *

 

 

Alex takes the shotgun seat when they head off.  Neither Charles nor Erik draws attention to it, and Darwin’s grateful for that.

It’s hard to wrap his mind around her — not for the obvious reasons, that makes perfect sense to him — because she just...fits in next to him.  He’s not  _ surprised _ to find her beside him when his eyes flick over; he always is, when it’s a normal fare that fills his cab like this one dops.

But it’s like his instincts just  _ expect _ her.  

He wonders why that is, if it’s a good thing or a bad thing.  But it’s a thing he’s got to chew on as they drive down to Virginia.

Charles and Erik are eerily silent, though sometimes one of them will give the other a  _ look _ , like they’re carrying on some private conversation in their heads — which Charles can do, and yeah, that’s pretty damn wild.

But it makes it hard to talk himself, even though he’s got a million burning questions and comments and, y’know,  _ cabbie banter _ stored up for this drive.

Alex is quiet, too, and he can feel them both getting tenser the longer the silence lasts, the closer they get to the compound in Virginia where they’ll be working with the god-damn  _ C-I-A. _  That’s not really somewhere either of them would want to be for very long, he thinks, and, really, he doesn’t know what to say about it.

Eventually, though, Alex says something, looking at Charles and Erik in the rear view mirror above the windshield: “Y’know, it’s rude, that shit.”

“Excuse me?” Charles says, alarmed.

“It’s obvious you two are talking, an’ if you’re keeping it in your heads, I’m pretty sure that means you’re talking about  _ us. _  And that’s rude.”  Her hands are tight on her knees.

Armando chuckles.  “Yeah, she’s kinda got you, there.”

Charles flushes, clearly embarrassed.  “I’m sorry, we weren’t talking about the two of you, specifically.”  

“More what we’re going to do when we get to the compound,” Erik adds.

That’s not as comforting as they clearly want it to be.  So Darwin asks, “Y’know, you haven’t said who else is there.  Are we your first two mutants?”

“No,” Erik says.  “There are three others so far.”

“My sister Raven, a young lady named Angel, and a young scientist who was already working for the Agency when we got here.”  Charles smiles. 

Names help, honestly.  Alex seems to agree, the tension in her shoulders easing a bit.

“It’s good you’ve got girls,” she says.  “I, uh. Can I get a room that locks?” She’s tensed up again, like the act of asking has her remembering what she’s worried about.  Darwin wants to reach out and take her hand.

He doesn’t.

“Yes,” Erik says, firmly.  “If you need that, I’ll make sure you have it.”

“Thank you.”

Armando wonders why Erik’s so invested in Alex in particular, but he figures it’s none of his business.  And if Erik wants to keep her safe, well, good for him.

Silence claims the car again, but Armando thinks he can deal with it now.

 

* * *

 

 

When they get to Virginia, Alex is wound tight as a spring, her whole body rigid as she stares out the windshield.  

As they pass over the state line, Armando can’t help himself; he reaches over and puts his hand on hers.  He wants her to know he’s here for her, if she’ll let him be. Whatever happens at the CIA, folks like them will have to stick together, take care of each other.

She jumps a little, head snapping around to look at him.  He glances at her, running his thumb across the back of her hand.  

She gets it, he thinks, because she nods a little, and just the smallest bit of a smile pulls up the corner of her mouth.  She turns her hand over and squeezes his. 

It feels good, feels right, and Armando thinks that’s got to be enough.

Just this once, it’s got to be enough.


End file.
